


Untethered

by sufferinginenochian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Highschool AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, More tags to be added, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Running Away, Smoking, Smut, TEOFW spin off, Teen Castiel (Supernatural), Teen Dean Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Underage Smoking, murder boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sufferinginenochian/pseuds/sufferinginenochian
Summary: A TEOFW-based spin off with highschool!deancas who both live in a close-minded, conservative town and finally break out of it, but soon find themselves running from the long arm of the law.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter of Untethered! This story is gonna be a long one, I can tell. This will be the first multi-chapter fic that I'll actually be posting - I hope y'all like it! Updates every Thursday, let me know what you guys think!! <3

“I wish  _ my _ dad didn’t give a shit about me. You got it made, Dean,” Brady complained, his voice cutting through the film of mindless chatter hanging around their lunch table. Dean narrowed his eyes as jeers of agreement rang out. 

Victor noticed his disapproval and pointed it out, laughing.

“Aw, c’mon Winchester; don’t get all pissy on us, we’re just joking.” He grinned, lopping Dean in the shoulder good-naturedly. Dean ducked out of his way and slammed his tray down, standing up.

“Get fucked. All of you.” He hissed and stalked away. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, and he could feel hundreds of eyes on him from the scene he was undoubtedly causing. What did it matter, though? He was just relieved he finally ripped the bandaid off. 

After a quick scan of the cafeteria, there was one table that wasn’t packed full of sweaty and chattering teenagers. In the back corner, a kid sat alone, reading a book while he left his lunch untouched. Dean made a beeline for the table and knocked on the top as he sat down.

The kid, something starting with a C, didn’t even look up from his book - he just raised an eyebrow.

“That was rude of you. You didn’t even ask if it was free.” 

Dean snorted and braced his head against his elbow.

“Why, you waiting on someone?” Dean challenged. The kid shrugged and turned a page. “No.”

“Well. Name’s Dean.” He offered, trying to subtly place a name to his face. C-something (Or was it K?) sighed and placed his book down, locking eyes with Dean. They were huge and clear, irises so bright and blue Dean thought they couldn’t be real.

“I’m well aware of who you are. My name’s Castiel.” 

_ Castiel? What kind of crack name is that? _

There was a wry smile playing at Castiel’s lips and Dean realized he’d said that out loud.

“It’s religious.” He shrugged, and then leaned forward, crossing his arms over the table.

“That was quite a scene you caused back there.” He observed. This time he held a blazing kind of eye-contact that made Dean squirm in his seat and try not to look away. He was confused and his heart-rate was picking up which only served to confuse him more.

“U-Uh, whatever - yeah, I guess. Got tired of their shit, y’know?” 

Cas didn’t answer, instead, he searched Dean’s face - for what? Dean didn’t know. After a split-second that felt to Dean like hours, Castiel’s attention returned to his book with an acknowledging hum. 

He let out a breath he didn’t know  _ why _ he’d been holding. 

“Gimme your phone.” Dean blurted before he could stop himself.  _ That _ dragged Cas’s attention away from his book again and he peered at Dean over the cover. Wordlessly, he fished it out of his pocket and unlocked it, extending his hand.

“Gonna give you my number. You’re...weird, but it’s like…” Dean paused and licked his lips, taking the phone in his shaky hands, “Refreshing.”

Castiel nodded, like he already  _ knew _ . Dean frowned and typed his info in. He slid the phone back across the table and stood up, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Great, so...um. I’ll catch you around, I guess. See ya, Cas.” 

Cas was...odd, to say the least. Weirdly formal, awkwardly obsessed with eye-contact. Unbothered, in general. He seemed like the type people warn you to stay away from. 

And yet, Dean was...drawn to him. When he sat there with Cas, watching his blue eyes move up and down the pages, he was inexplicably enraptured. He felt like he could sit there forever, just in his company, and never get bored or rather be anywhere else.

And that scared him, because what the fuck. He’d never felt this way about anyone, much less a  _ guy _ who he’d  _ just _ met. 

Usually, he’d want to distance himself from anyone he felt weird feeling weird about, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that with Cas. They would be friends, he decided.

Yeah. Friends. 

*******

**+316 435 6787**

**_> >_ ** _ Dean. _

**_> >_ ** _ why is your name ‘Big Daddy Winchester’ in my phone? _

**_< <_ ** _ do i really need to explain further  _

**_< < _ ** _ i forgot i even did that. my comedic genius knows no bounds ;P _

***

Dean changed Castiel’s contact name from his phone number to “Cas” after their short but admittedly adrenaline-inducing (it was for him, at least) conversation.

He walked into his house - the door was unlocked and slightly ajar. His dad’s car was parked in the garage and his heart clenched in trepidation. He was as quiet as possible, slinking into the house and up the down the hallway, passing the arm-chair his father occupied - which faced the television at the other side of the room. His dad grunted and turned around.

“Dean.” He barked, beckoning his son closer with one hand. Dean froze in his tracks and turned slowly, each step towards his father felt like an added weight to his shoulders.

“Yeah, dad?” 

“Get me another beer, would ya? And stop dragging yer feet all over the place, you’ll scuff up this shithole even more than it already is.” He demanded, and Dean counted four empty bottles on the floor around him. He nodded and steeled his expression, clenching his jaw as he walked into the kitchen and fetched another beer from the mostly empty fridge, handing it to his father without a second glance before he disappeared down the hallway into his room. 

He flopped down on his bed with a sigh and pulled his phone out of his pocket. There was a message from his mom that had been sitting in his inbox for a day now, telling him they missed him and asking if he wanted to talk. And he did, so desperately.

But he didn’t want her to see how bad things were, and he didn’t want to make either of them worry. With a heavy heart, he opened the message and typed a response.

***

**Mom**

**_> >_ ** _ Hi Sweetheart, how are things going? School okay? Me and Sammy miss you so much, it’s been way too long since we came to visit but I know things are busy right now with Senior year. We could talk on the phone, at least, just to hear your voice and catch up on life. Let me know. Love you. _

**_< <_ ** _ Hey, mom. im good, but really busy. i don’t see my schedule clearing up any time soon but i’ll let you know. love u 2. _

_ *** _

He felt like some kind of monster, dismissing his mom like that. Lying to her, telling her everything is fine when it’s clearly not, when it’s never been worse - not even when she left. And his brother, he hadn’t seen the kid since last summer. Wide-eyed, smart, and a little shrimpy but plenty of chicks dig a man with a working brain. 

Dean could almost wish that things were different, but then he felt guilty for wanting things he didn’t deserve. 

It just wasn’t in the cards for him, he told himself. A normal life, with a normal family and a normal...everything. He would be bored with normality, he was convinced. By now Dean was used to not having to answer to much of anyone, his mom lived states away and his dad was barely even a whole person anymore. He could go out, he could bring girls home, he could take a car from the garage and just drive. He wasn’t held down by anyone.

Untethered, unknown, unloved.

And that’s how he wanted it to be, that’s all he knew how to be - and he didn’t see it changing anytime soon. 

He threw his phone aside, hearing it bounce off the wall with a thunk. He didn’t give it a second glance as he shrugged on his worn leather jacket and emerged from his room, sneaking around to the backdoor where his dad wouldn’t see him pass. 

Dean shut the creaky door behind him, his dad was probably too drunk to notice the sound - or unconscious. Fishing the creased and half-empty pack of menthols out of his pocket, he breathed in the biting autumn evening air, filling his lungs with the cool burn he had learned to crave. 

He trekked through the overgrown grass of their “background” which was really just an abandoned field that their house was built on the very edge of. There, towards the forest line where the field ended, was an old piece of junk car the previous owners had used as a chicken coop. The thing was a beast in its time, and even after a decade and a half, its structural integrity had stayed the same. Strong enough to support the weight of a couple drunk jocks, he’d found out a few years ago. It was a peaceful place, one where Dean would go to collect his thoughts or get away from everything else. 

It was his sanctuary. The one place he didn’t feel like he needed to keep himself enclosed to stay safe. There was no-one out here for miles away - his dad didn’t count, anymore. 

He used the tire for purchase as he pulled himself up and sat himself on the roof of the car with a practiced ease. He stuck a cigarette between his lips and flicked his zippo, cupping the flame in his hands - protecting it from the wind until it successfully lit the end and he flipped it shut. Dean sucked the reeking smoke with ease and reveling in the faint buzz that spread through his body. He exhaled the plume above him, laying back on the sheet of metal underneath him, watching the smoke curl up into the sky and, finally, disappear to reveal the stars shining above him. One thing he loved about living in the country was the view at night.

Dean never bothered to learn the names of any stars, or the placements of any constellations - it was just peaceful. Calming to look at, helped remind him that his struggles weren’t as all-consuming as he thought they were. 

Even if his life didn’t mean anything to whatever higher power was out there, it could matter to him. For as long as he could fool himself into caring. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is given some tainted beer and Cas has to deal with the aftermath of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for Underage drinking.
> 
> I love Meg and Charlie's relationships with Cas. I also love them. I hope I was able to do their characters justice. Juicy stuff coming soon!

“Charlie. I feel ill. I think I’m going to be sick.” Castiel protested from the passenger seat. A mane of flaming red flicked him in the chin as she spun around, fixing him in a withering look.

“Nope! There’s no opting out. You agreed to one social event every two months. We’re going.” 

Cas sighed and let his head fall to rest on the cold window,

“I’m not a ‘social’ or ‘party’ person. I don’t do well with new people - or people in general. I won’t know anyone at this party.”

Charlie swore under her breath as she ran a stoplight and groaned in annoyance.

“You know  _ me _ . Just stick by me, I’ll take the brunt of the social interaction.  _ But _ I want you to make a friend. That’s all. Or get some cute guy’s number - either one.” 

“I’m not exactly interested in a relationship, Charlie - you know that.” Castiel frowned as he massaged his temples to ward off an incoming stress headache.

“Who said anything about a relationship? One-night stands exist, y’know. Or friends with benefits. Just...something along those lines, m’kay?” Charlie said with a grin, reaching over to blindly pat his head, mussing his hair which he’d spent half an hour attempting to wrestle into something a little more put together even further. He swatted her hand away with a groan as he glanced at the birds’ nest in the side mirror.

“Oh, quit your whining; I keep telling you, it looks better like that. Got that whole hippie, just-had-sex thing going on. Suits you.” She laughed and jerked in her seat as she very narrowly escaped a head-on collision with another car trying to merge lanes. 

“ _ Jesus _ , Charlie - I’d appreciate it if you didn’t crash my car,” Cas exclaimed, gripping the upholstery as she whooped.

“Aw, c’mon; I was trying to be nice since you’re probably gonna be the one dragging my wasted ass home. If I don’t score, which is very unlikely. Or if I’m done scoring by the time it’s time to go.” She said dismissively as she pulled over on the lawn of the big suburban house that was already teeming with people and blaring music. 

Castiel took a deep breath as he stepped out of the car and eyed the entrance nervously - there was a couple making out on the doorstep, and Charlie had to grab his hand and drag him up the mostly-occupied stoop and into the house. Immediately, he was hit by the scent of sweat, perfume, and booze. His nostrils flared as they ventured deeper into the belly of the beast, Charlie never letting go of his hand. She was right to do so, because if she did, Castiel was 80% sure he would book it out of there without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Come on, buddy, let’s get some liquid courage in ya. You’re shaking like a leaf.” Charlie was aiming for soothing, but she had to practically shout in his ear above all the talking and music. That did not sound like a bad idea, but he reminded himself firmly that one or two drinks would be the cutoff. He was driving home, after all. 

Charlie could be merciful when she chose. She offered to grab him a drink from the packed kitchen while he waited out in the living room. He got caught in a fair amount of sultry looks, from both men and women. He wasn’t interested in any of them, and would either look away or just shake his head and gesture to his stomach - signaling he wasn’t feeling good. 

He was in the middle of a very awkward staring contest with a girl with impossibly tall heels and smokey eye-makeup. She was terrifyingly beautiful, and though he had no interest, he couldn’t look away. She didn’t seem the type to take no for an answer, and he found himself trapped in her steely gaze. He was saved when Charlie shoved a half-full solo cup into his hand, a rum and coke, she told him. He suspected it was more a RUM and coke, but he took a sip regardless. 

They flitted among the little sub-groups that formed, Charlie was the social butterfly between them, and he mostly hung in the background and offered small smiles or small introductions. As he emptied his cup, though, he felt himself loosen. Talking came easier, and before he knew it, he saw Charlie being led down the hallway by a pretty brunette in an emerald green dress - and he was stranded in a sea of people. He gulped and drained the remainder of his drink, setting the cup down and wandering his way out into the yard. He felt claustrophobic in that hazy living room and needed some fresh air to calm his nerves.

He opened the back door and climbed down the patio steps, seating himself on the ledge that hung over the grassy area that took up the rest of their expansive property. In the far back, there was a sloppy game of football going on. He let his head fall back against the wall and he closed his eyes, breathing in the woody and crisp air. When he felt a sudden warmth beside him, he gave no recognition of the new presence and hoped that if it was someone trying to flirt, they would think him unconscious or dead and move on.

They didn’t, and instead, he heard the flicking of a lighter and he cracked an eye open. There, beside him, sat the girl who had kept him rooted in his place for the better part of five minutes. She smiled at him and offered the cigarette that dangled gracefully between her fingers. He sat up and cleared his throat, holding out a hand and shaking his head. She shrugged and took another drag, exhaling the smoke in a plume above their heads.

“You know, I’ve never looked at anyone like that and had them just walk away after.” She remarked off-handedly, but it didn’t sound bitter at all - more a wry amusement. Castiel shifted in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs a few times.

“Ah. Well, I-um. I’m gay.” 

She nodded and turned to him, flashing a pearly grin. 

“I figured, but can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Cas squinted and watched as she snuffed the cigarette butt on the patio. 

“Y...Uh, you’re not still trying, are you?” He asked, throat tightening in apprehension. The girl laughed, it was barking and a touch hoarse.

“No, sweetheart - don’t worry about that. I’m not the type, that ‘I’ll turn you straight’ shit is laughable.” She said reassuringly, eyes trained on some of the boys that were taking their shirts off in the middle of their game.

“So...a-um...not that I mind, really, but why are you here with me, then? I’m sure there’s plenty of straight guys in there who would love to...um...get to know you.” 

“Nah. They’re all so...unremarkable. You, you caught my interest. Eyes in that shade of blue don’t grow on trees - neither does that jawline. The way you dress, at a party - it’d be  _ fun _ to corrupt you. Y’know, if you were into it and all,” She sighed, propping her head up on her elbow, “The name’s Meg, by the way.” 

Cas swallowed and ran a hand through his hair - a nervous tick that he was just now realizing probably contributed to the fact that his hair was always a mess.

“Castiel.” He offered quietly, his eyes looked out in front of them. The football game had devolved into more of a huddle of boys sat on the grass, drinking beer with their shirts off. There was one who broke away from the group, stumbling his way up the slight incline. As he got closer, Castiel realized it was Dean. He let his gaze linger for a second too long on the blue long-sleeved henley that was rolled up to his elbow. When his eyes traveled up to Dean’s face, he noticed there was something wrong.

Dean collapsed onto all fours and puked into the grass about two feet away from them. Meg let out a groan of disgust and jumped up, mumbling something about designer heels. Castiel rushed forward and placed a tentative hand on Dean’s back.

“Dean? Dean are you okay?” 

Dean continued to dry heave while scattered whoops resounded from some of the seated jocks. Castiel pursed his lips and rubbed Dean’s back, crouching down beside him and looking around for someone who Dean might have come with. There was no one.

When he stopped, Dean fell back onto his ass, panting heavily, with vomit dribbling down his chin and a sickly pallor taking over his skin. 

“I’m... _ greeeat. _ ” Dean slurred, eyes half-closed. Castiel sighed heavily and took Dean’s arm, draping it across his own shoulders.

“Come on, stand up with me, Dean.” He murmured, gripping Dean’s side and clambering to his feet, lifting up the inebriated boy beside him. He steered Dean’s mostly limp body into the house and after asking around for directions to the bathroom and clearing out what looked like the beginnings of an orgy.

Dean had lurched forward, kneeling on the bathroom floor as he dry heaved once again into the toilet. Cas locked the door behind him and rummaged around under the sink, pulling out a bottle of mouthwash. He poured some into the cap and approached Dean cautiously, holding it out. Dean tried to take it from him, but Cas knocked his hands away and pressed the white cap to his lips, which parted and took some of the green liquid in his mouth.

“There you go. Swish it around, spit it back out. Into the toilet, there you are.” He sighed and sat down in front of Dean, unrolling a length of toilet paper and folding it in his hand. When Dean spat the mouthwash out, Castiel cupped his hand at the back of Dean’s head and wiped at his mouth, and realized belatedly that there was a spew of puke on his henley. 

“Dean. Hey, are you here with someone? Do you have a ride home?” 

Dean slumped against the bathroom wall and opened his eyes, looking at Cas like it was the first time he was really seeing him.

“Cas! What’re doin here, man?” He grinned, raising a hand to blindly reach for him. Castiel took his hand gently and brought it back down.

“Dean. Answer my question,”

The blonde boy groaned and covered his eyes with his hand, shaking his head. 

“Don’t feel good, Cas.” He murmured. Castiel ran a hand over his face and nodded.

“I know. Okay, I’m gonna take you home. Can you tell me your address?”

Dean’s eyes flew open and he seized Castiel by his collar, breath smelling vaguely of vomit still. Gross.

“Cas, I can’t go home. Don’t make me, please. My dad’ll kill me. I can’t.” He begged softly, eyes shining with fear. Cas gripped Dean’s forearm and shushed him, nodding.

“Calm down, I’m not going to make you. I-ugh,  _ fuck _ . Okay, okay.” Cas threw his head back to the ceiling and he shook his head, “Okay. I’m gonna take you to my place and we can clean you up and sort something out, okay? But I need you to walk with me out to my car. Can you stand?” 

Dean was sweating, he noticed, and Castiel pressed the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead. He was burning up. Cas swore under his breath and stood up again, stretching his legs after being sat in a cramped position. He hooked his hands under Dean’s armpits and hauled him up, and this time Dean threw an arm around Cas on his own, holding tight to his shoulder while Castiel’s other hand wrapped around his hip. Castiel opened the door and half-dragged Dean down the hallway, weaving between people.

They made it outside the house, after only a few near-incidents. As they climbed down the stoop, Dean tripped and sent them both stumbling forward. Castiel grumbled as he righted himself, and had to practically lift Dean up with his one free arm while he tried to unlock his car door and stuff Dean into the passenger seat.

“ _ Dean _ , come on. Sit down, legs inside - yes, just like that. Okay, now can you do your seatbelt? C-it’s right there, Dean.” Cas groaned in frustration and ducked over Dean’s seated body, grappling with the buckle, trying to shove it into the other half of the seatbelt while Dean giggled drunkenly. 

When Cas pulled back, Dean grabbed his sleeve and made Cas hit his head on the car roof. He scowled and rubbed at the back of his head while looking at Dean expectantly, whose eyes were bugging out of his head.

“You smell good, Cas.” He stage-whispered and let go. Castiel rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the flush that crept up his neck at Dean’s words. He circled to the driver’s side and climbed in. He was about to flip the engine when he smacked himself on the forehead. 

_ Charlie. _

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number. It rang four times before she picked up the phone, a huff of annoyance was clear on the other end.

“Charlie? I-um-I’m going home. Will you be able to get back on your-”

_ “Dude, you just majorly vag-blocked me for  _ that _? Yes, I will be fine. Bye, now.” _ She hung up the phone with that. She sounded out of breath.

Well, that solves that. 

Castiel tossed his phone onto the dashboard and pulled out of the crowded street. Cautiously eyeing a very sickly looking Dean. 

“Dean? How much did you even drink? Did you take something?”

Dean grunted, his head pressed to the window.

“Had like, three beers. ‘M not this much’a lightweight, swear it.” He slurred. Castiel chewed on his lip and pressed his foot to the gas harder. 

“Shit.  _ Fuck _ . Is...Dean, it sounds like you were roofied. Did you get those beers yourself?”

“ _ Nnngh _ . Yeah, ‘cept the first one. Some lady got it for me.” He grumbled, half into his own shoulder. 

All Castiel could do was hope Dean would refrain from puking until he got him to another bathroom. And stay alive, for that matter. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and even went a few above the speed limit. He needed to get Dean hydrated, medicated, and maybe sedated. He was groaning again, and Castiel pulled into his driveway so fast he almost drove into the wall. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas dealing with the after-aftermath. Drunk fluff and caring!cas abound!

It was dark, somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, and all the lights in the house were off. A small mercy he wouldn’t have to explain this to his brothers, or Rachel - who he was supposed to be setting a good example for. He rounded the car and repeated their dance of letting Dean hang off his shoulder while he essentially carried the drunk jock to his doorstep, bumping Dean’s shoulder against the doorjamb with a wince. Dean seemed too out of it to notice, his head lolling onto Cas’s shoulder again. 

With great difficulty and a few slip-ups that almost resulted in Dean taking a tumble down their staircase, he dragged Dean into his bedroom.

“Dean. Dean, I need you to work with me, okay?” He steadied Dean’s shoulders and pushed him to sit on the bed. Dean grumbled and shook his head.

“‘M t _ ired _ .” He whined. 

“I know, but you need to take your shirt off - you’ve got vomit all over you.” 

Dean whined again and lifted his arms up, eyes fluttered shut. Castiel rolled his eyes and grabbed the collar of Dean’s shirt, swallowing thickly as he carefully pulled the clothing over Dean’s head, steering clear of the puke stain. He kept his gaze trained on his feet as he balled it up and tossed it to the side, retreating to his dresser to rummage around for something that would fit him. He found an old band t-shirt Luke had given to him that he never wore - he didn’t care for the band, and it was too big. 

He offered it to Dean, still not daring to let his bare chest cross his eye-line.

“Put this on. If you feel sick, the bathroom is right there.” Castiel said, pointing to the door that was positioned to the right of the bed. He cast one last glance to the fumbling boy before closing the door and pressing his back to it, inhaling deeply. His chest was aflutter, the closeness of them still sent tingles up and down his spine, even when they were separated. He was screwing himself by doing this, he knew. But, he wasn’t strong...no, he wasn’t  _ weak _ enough to leave Dean to suffer, wasted, at a party alone just because he had gone and caught feelings for a straight guy. 

He straightened up and made a bee-line for the main bathroom, where they kept the Ibuprofen, for Dean’s imminent hangover and to hopefully lower his fever. He rushed back, hoping his brothers were fast asleep or out by now. Dean was lying back on the bed, shirt on backward, Castiel’s heart swelled at the sight, but he stuffed his fondness down and filled up a cup from the bathroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed and shook Dean’s shoulder.

His eyes flew open and he squinted up at Cas as he pushed him back into a sitting-ish position, shaking a few pills into Dean’s hand and pressing the cup into his other. 

“Take these, and drink. They’ll help.” He murmured, feeling Dean’s forehead again. He didn’t feel worse, but he didn’t feel better, either. Dean swallowed the pills and chased them with a sip of water. He tried to hand the cup back to Castiel, mumbling about how tired he was. Castiel shook his head and pressed the cup back towards him.

“Drink the whole thing, then you can sleep.” He ordered gently, fixing Dean in a firm look. Dean made a face and started chugging the water. Cas lurched forward and seized Dean’s arm.

“Slow, slow! I do not need you vomiting in my bed. Drink it slowly.” 

When Dean had drained the glass at a moderate pace, he finally slunk back into the bed, allowing Cas to help him get under the blanket.

“Thanks, buddy. You didn’t needa do this. I’m...a  _ mess _ .” He smiled lopsidedly, but the look in his eyes didn’t match the rest of his expression. He looked scared. 

“I did. We’re...well, I dare say we’re friends. I wasn’t going to leave you there like this.” 

Dean’s smile fell for a half-second before it was back, this time forced.

“Yeah. We’re friends. Besties.” He winked and Cas tried and failed to hide a smile.

“If you don’t vomit on my floor, that is.” He smiled. And frowned as Dean pulled the blanket tighter around him. 

“Are you cold?” Cas asked tentatively, eyeing Dean’s trembling body. Dean nodded, teeth chattering. Castiel swore and tugged the blanket off. 

“Dean, you need to take your pants off.” 

Dean chuckled and waggled his eyebrows.

“I’m awful flattered, Cas, but I thought we were ‘ _ friends’.” _

Castiel’s heart-rate picked up and his face went red, but he kept his calm (sort of).

“You’re burning up, Dean - you need to cool down as soon as possible. Come on, we need to break your fever as soon as we can.” He deadpanned. Dean groaned and threw his head back.

“I’m so fucking tired, man. Just wanna sleep. And ‘m cold. Gimme the covers back.”

“ _ Dean _ . Now. Then you can sleep.” Castiel urged, raising a single eyebrow. Dean sighed dramatically and began fumbling with his belt blindly. He let out a frustrated whine and threw his hands up.

“Tried. Can’t. Guess I’ll just go to sleep, now.” Dean murmured around a yawn. Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose and tried desperately to soothe the butterflies that threatened to force their way out via his windpipe.

Before he could psych himself out of it, Cas reached forwards and undid Dean’s belt with deft fingers, pulling the waistband of his jeans off.

_ Please be wearing underwear, please be wearing underwear. _

Dean laughed and swatted Castiel’s hands away, cracking an eye open.

“You’re tickling.” 

Cas sighed in exasperation and tugged his jeans off the rest of the way, tossing them aside. Thank god tomorrow was Saturday - otherwise, this would be a lot more challenging to handle the aftermath of.

“Okay, Dean. You can go to sleep now. If you need me, I’ll be in the living room. I reiterate; please,  _ please _ use the  _ toilet _ as a puke receptacle.” Castiel repeated tiredly, returning to his dresser to pull out some more comfortable clothes. He was too tired to worry about preserving his modesty, and he was sure Dean was passed out by now.

“You’re going?”

The softness of his voice startled Cas and he spun around, his button-up hanging off one arm.

“Going? I-I’ll just be in the living room,” He said slowly, tilting his head. Dean was sitting up, eyes wide and pleading.

“Why?” It was so quiet, so tiny. Cas’s jaw went slack and he stammered.

“I-w...um? I...I don’t understand what’s happening,” Castiel realized that his shirt was falling off and put it in the hamper, pulling on a plain cotton shirt. He licked his lips and looked at Dean, he looked so small, somehow. In that giant t-shirt, curled up in his queen-sized bed. “Do you want me to stay...in here?” He asked quietly.

Dean nodded gently, jerkily - looking at Cas expectantly. Castiel didn’t break eye-contact with Dean as he kicked his shoes off and approached the bed tentatively. Dean scooted closer to one side, and Castiel sunk a knee into the vacated space. He climbed onto the bed unsurely and settled against the headboard, staring straight ahead of them while Dean settled back into the mattress, seemingly satisfied. Castiel reached over and flipped the lamp off, and turned back to Dean. He opened his mouth to ask how they were going to do this, if they should set up a pillow border, etc., when Dean threw a leg over Castiel’s thighs and collapsed onto his side, exhaling softly through his parted lips. 

“I’m drowning in this town.” He said quietly, nuzzling into Castiel’s chest. He swallowed and shut his eyes, trying to subdue any physical reactions he might have to their closeness. He opened his mouth and gaped for a moment, licking his lips.

“How...what do you mean?” Cas asked tentatively. Dean sighed into his shirt, it sounded wet. 

“The people here...the person I am. D’ya ever wish you could just...I dunno. Change? Wipe the slate clean, start over. Be who you wanna be without having to worry. No strings,” Dean paused and sat up suddenly, looking into Castiel’s eyes, his drunken haze lifted for a second and his eyes shone with a somber soberness, “Untethered.” He finished in a whisper. 

Their faces were inches apart, Dean lingered there. Castiel could feel him exhaling against his lips, doing all he could to keep his eyes on Dean’s rather than elsewhere. Dean had no such courtesy, eyes flickering to Cas’s lips, never able to stay in focus for long. Cas swallowed so hard it hurt and nodded dumbly.

“Yeah.” He breathed. Something in Dean’s expression shifted, he looked pained. He brought his hand forward slowly, his hand-eye coordination subpar at best. Inching forward, eyes fixed on Castiel’s in an unblinking gaze, he brushed his thumb against Castiel’s dry lips, fingers curling under his jaw. 

“You’re...you’re like a breath of fresh air, Cas, d’ya know that?” He said quietly, voice low and gravelly. 

Castiel’s heart thudded in his chest, so hard he was sure Dean could feel it where his other hand still rested on his chest. Dean was drunk, clearly, and working through something. He was...he was delirious - he wasn’t making sense.

Dean swept his thumb from the center crease of Castiel’s upper lip to his cheek, and then his jaw. Cas stopped breathing and Dean leaned forward, cupping his jaw with clammy fingers. 

He wanted to let it happen, he wanted so badly to  _ have _ Dean that way. Lips, tongue, tangled limbs - love, hate, desperation, shame,  _ anything _ . He didn’t want to care why, he just wanted. He wanted to hold Dean in his bed, learning how much teeth Dean liked in his kisses, how much touching, how much tugging. He wanted to find out how Dean tasted, how he  _ worked _ . 

Dean Winchester, the most infuriatingly delicate and intricate module; cogs and gears - trauma and secrets. He wanted to know what made him  _ tick _ , and commit it to memory, like the back of his hand. 

But not like this, never like this. Dean wasn’t right and he wasn’t sober. So, with a hand that felt weighed down by the very weight of the universe, he put it between them. Tenderly, gently, he pressed his thumb to Dean’s chin to stop him, allowing his fingers to curl against the underside of Dean’s jaw like he’d done - a moment of sick indulgence. He shook his head softly, and he felt physically pained at the pleading look in Dean’s eyes. He let out an almost teary sigh and brought his other hand to cup the other side of Dean’s face. Dean leaned into the touch, the betrayed look in his eyes, though, never left.

“I want to. God, Dean - you have no idea. But...I can’t, not when you’re like this. Not when...not when I know you wouldn’t do this if you  _ weren’t _ like this.” 

Dean frowned and Castiel smiled a watery smile, moving his thumb to that little crease in his forehead. He pressed at it gently and in the throes of a tidal wave of affection and tenderness that he felt towards the pained boy in front of him, he leaned forward and pressed a tiny kiss to the wrinkle in his skin. 

Dean let out an honest to god  _ whimper _ , and he didn’t let Castiel pull away. Gripping at the back of his neck desperately, but not painfully. He rested their foreheads together, so close they were sharing the same breath. He shook his head, lip quivering.

“I’ll prove you wrong.” Dean shuddered. Castiel smiled, it was shaky and small. He wrapped Dean’s wrist in a loose hold and breathed in. He couldn’t mean it, he didn’t. 

“I’ll be here when you do.” 

And he would. He would because it was Dean, it always had been, and it always would. Even if Dean wouldn’t do the same. 

Dean pulled away with a firm nod and yawned. He collapsed back onto the mattress.

“G’night, Cas.” He said sleepily, burrowing his head further into the pillow he had claimed. Castiel swallowed hard, and after he was sure Dean was fast asleep, he too settled in. When he was laying down instead of leaning against the headboard, Dean scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Cas’s waist with a happy sigh. He looked like he was dreaming, and the warmth that Dean was radiating was comforting - although a little concerning. He raised a hand to feel Dean’s forehead, but faltered at the last moment and hesitated for all of a second before leaning down to press his lips to the sleeping boy’s forehead. The ibuprofen must have kicked in because he was significantly cooler and didn’t look as sickly as he had that party. 

Castiel looked down at his face, soft rays of moonlight that filtered through the drapes served as a fitting backdrop, glowing like a halo around the back of his head. He looked so peaceful, lying there. Now that the color was returning to his face, his freckles were more visible. Castiel could see them on his shoulders where the shirt slipped from his collarbone and wondered if they were on his back too. He was never one for astrophysics, but he wanted to memorize every star, every planet, every constellation he could pick out on the sun-kissed skin. He wanted to give them names, stories, memories. He wanted a lot, for a gay guy who had feelings for a straight one.

His whole life, he had access to anything and everything he could ever want, and then some. But he never did. His siblings’ rooms were overflowing with toys and gadgets when they were growing up, and some still were - he had his books and his computer, but that was it.  _ Wanting _ was not a feeling he was familiar with, and yet here he was. 

The one thing he wanted, was the one thing he couldn’t have.

He reveled in the feeling of having Dean beside him, and closed his eyes, hoping to brand the memory in his mind. Sleep pulled him under like an unseen sea-monster in a nightmare. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

Dean woke up that morning a little after the rest of him did. By the time he had  _ really _ come to, he was crouched over a toilet, puking up straight stomach acid. It was not pleasant. 

When he could finally sit back without his stomach clenching painfully, he wiped his mouth and flushed, using the seat rim to haul himself to his feet. His heart throbbed painfully, and he had a chronic case of cotton-mouth. He also had a chronic case of ‘where-the-hell-am-I?’. He didn’t recognize this bathroom, so this wasn’t one of his semi-regular lays. A new girl, maybe. He squinted at himself in the mirror, grabbing a value-sized bottle of mouthwash and water-falling a healthy mouthful of the bright blue liquid - out of courtesy for the girl who owned it. He swished it around his mouth and spat it back in the sink, ridding his mouth of the sour taste of bile. He fixed the giant t-shirt that was put on backwards and ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to fix his bed-head. 

When he decided he was presentable enough (for the morning after, at least) he ventured out of the bedroom and into the hallway. This place was... _ nice _ . Fancy, modern, expensive. Ugly modern art lined the walls of the carpeted hallway. He stayed quiet, in case there were any family members loitering around that he would need to hide from. The smell of cooking meat caught his senses, and he followed the scent, mouth already watering. He found himself in the entrance of a huge and open kitchen with marble countertops and  _ two _ fridges. He walked into the open area, open-mouthed. And then he spotted the person cooking, and he frowned.

“...Cas?” He asked dubiously. The boy in question spun around with a shy smile on his face. His black hair, a stark contrast to the sterile white walls, was sticking up in every direction - even messier than it usually was. He swallowed and moved his gaze to the pans that were occupying the stovetop.

“Dean. Good morning, are you hungry? I...well, I figured with that hangover, some protein would do you good. How do you feel?” 

Castiel walked around the stand-alone island/bar to press the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Dean cleared his throat and backed away, holding up a placating hand.

“Um. Yeah, I’m good, thanks. Hungry, though. Uh...so, last night is kinda a blur for me. Did you...did we-what happened?”

“You got very sick at the party yesterday. I offered to drive you home but you...you said you couldn’t, so I, um, brought you back here. You had a fever. I think someone attempted to roofie you.” Castiel explained, returning to the cooking food. Plates clattered as he scooped helpings of the contents that were making Dean’s stomach growl demandingly. Dean took a seat at the bar and looked around the kitchen again, still in awe - the high vaulted ceilings, the modern and expensive looking furniture.

“Wow, your house is…”

“Sterile? Clinical? Boring?” Cas supplied wryly, passing Dean a plate heaping with scrambled eggs and sausage, as well as a steaming mug of coffee. Dean let out an outright moan as he sipped at the rich beverage. He could  _ taste _ the quality - smooth, earthy, rich, a perfect balance of bitter and nutty. It was delicious, and he drank half of the cup, burning his tongue and the roof of his mouth in the process. 

His stomach could be ignored no longer and he started unceremoniously shoving eggs and meat into his mouth.

“I waz g’nna shay fanshy.” He spoke through a mouthful of chewed food and swallowed it down with a gulp of coffee, grinning sheepishly at the look of amusement on Castiel’s face as he delicately picked at his own food.

“Hm. Well, “fanshy” is pretty much exactly the opposite of what my father was aiming for when he designed this place. Elegant, maybe. Or clean.” Castiel got a far-off look in his eyes as he stabbed at one piece of elusive sausage over and over again with his fork. Dean approached the subject with caution, one he understood needing. 

“Your dad, huh?” He posed innocently, unaccusing. Cas snapped out it and his eyes focused again, this time on Dean. He nodded and set his plate aside in favor of grasping a comically large mug of coffee like it was precious. He held the aromatic cup just under his nose and looked to Dean from where he leaned against the counter.

“Yes. My mother passed away when my younger sister was born.” He said airily, off-handedly, like it meant nothing.

“Sorry to hear that, buddy.” Dean said sympathetically, taking an awkward sip of coffee. He paused half-way through and choked, slamming the mug onto the counter as he hacked into his arm. Castiel raised an amused eyebrow and he leaned forward.

“Dean?”

Dean held up a finger as he pounded on his chest, eyes watering.

“Did you-um. Did you say ‘little sister’? Is-she’s not... _ here _ ….is she?” He asked hoarsely. A funny look crossed over Cas’s face and Dean wondered for a second if he’d said something wrong. But, then…

Castiel threw his head back and laughed. Properly  _ laughed _ , his entire body consumed by his laughter and he had to put his mug down to steady himself. Dean was left speechless, it was a spectacle. The way his nose scrunched up and how laughter sounded rolling off his rumbling vocal cords. He felt like he’d just witnessed something sacred, and Dean wrung his hands nervously, eyes darting around the room.

“Y-Your  _ face _ , you looked like you saw a ghost,” He gasped out, his full-body laughter was reduced to a sunny grin as he shook his head. “No, you have no need to worry. Rachel is at her Judo class now, and won’t be back until noon.” 

Dean crossed his arms over his chest defensively - only half-joking.

“Hey! Excuse me for wanting to preserve some little girl’s innocence.” 

Castiel did it again, raised that one eyebrow at him, this time from over the rim of his mug. He lowered the mug, looking at Dean, he seemed like he was contemplating something. He swallowed his mouthful of coffee, and Dean watched with a perverted fascination as the swell of Castiel’s throat constricted and his adam’s apple bobbed. His pink tongue darted out from between pillowy lips to catch a stray droplet of dark liquid.

“Her innocence? Dean, we didn’t do anything. You’re aware of that, right?” Castiel said softly, and there was a miniscule twitch in his jaw. Dean adjusted himself on the barstool and avoided Castiel’s searching gaze, he nodded.

“Yeah, ‘course not. Still, though...seeing some random guy in his undies and…” Dean mumbled, trailing off with a sudden wide-eyed realization. He looked up at Cas with a dawning horror on his face.

“Oh my god, this is your shirt, isn’t it.” 

It wasn’t a question, and Dean felt the tips of his ears heat up before Cas even had the chance to nod in confirmation. 

“What...what happened to  _ my _ shirt?” Dean asked, he was almost 99% sure he didn’t really want the answer.

“You vomited all over it.” Castiel deadpanned. Dean sighed and caught his head in his hands. 

“Jeez, sounds like you really took up the position of disaster control. Was I...shit, I know how I can get when I’m wasted. Well,  _ I  _ don’t, but enough people have let me know. Sorry, man.” 

A faint smile danced on Castiel’s lips, and Dean remembered something. Felt something, a phantom tingling, on the pad of his thumb. 

“Eat your breakfast, Dean.”

Cas’s voice, gentle and patient, snapped him back to reality. He realized he’d been staring, staring at Cas’s  _ lips _ . His face was likely redder than a tomato as he did just that, steadily stuffing his mouth with the luke-warm protein. He did feel marginally better, now that he actually had something in his system besides beer and stale pretzels. 

_ Physically _ better, he should say. Because, at the moment, his mind was going a mile a minute, reeling over what was happening right  _ now _ and what happened last night that he couldn’t remember. 

As Dean scraped the remains of his breakfast into his mouth, Castiel started cleaning up. Methodically stacking dishes beside the sink, wiping down counters, putting ingredients away. Dean awkwardly placed his plate on the stack.

“Um...can I help?” He offered unsurely. Cas shook his head and took out a glass, filling it to the brim with water from a Britta filter.

“No. Sit and drink, you lost a lot of fluids last night. You may feel better now, but your body still needs to recover from that.” 

Dean wanted to protest, one last-ditch attempt to preserve what remained of his dignity. But he was tired, despite the caffeine that now buzzed in his veins, and his body did feel suspiciously like a desert. He sat back down and sipped at the crisp and clean water. It was...unnerving, how something could  _ taste _ clear, unblemished. 

Cas started humming as he soaped up a sponge and started scrubbing at one of the skillets.

“...Cas?” 

Castiel didn’t look up from his work, he just hummed in acknowledgment.

“Could-um, could you tell me exactly what happened last night? Like, after you got me back here.” His throat tightened around his words, and he had to fight off a voice crack with everything he had in him. He saw Castiel’s shoulders tense and he paused for a moment, just a second, before returning like nothing had happened.

“Well, I got you out of your vomit-stained shirt and gave you another one. Your fever wasn’t breaking so I had you take your pants off before going to sleep, gave you some ibuprofen and water, and then…” Castiel trailed off, setting dishes on the drying rack with a clatter.

“And then?” Dean prompted against his own will. Cas hesitated for a moment, and Dean could see him in his mind’s eye, chewing on his lip in contemplation. Dean’s heart stuttered, the beginnings of anxiety edging their way into his mind while he stared at the back of Cas’s head.

“And then...you asked me to stay. So I did. To keep an eye on you, mostly, in case your fever or symptoms got worse.”

Dean fell off his stool.

Or, more accurately, he swayed so far to the side when he felt like he was about to pass out from the information he’d just received that he’d lost his footing and, well,  _ seating.  _ Luckily, he managed to catch himself before falling smack on the hardwood floor with only a  _ mildly _ thundering clapped hand to the marble table-top. The entire island shook, even though (which Dean noted with a growing hysteria) it was  _ fused to the fucking floor _ . 

When he looked up, he nearly had a heart attack. This series of events was too much for him to deal with in such a short span of time. 

Inches from him were a pair of blue eyes, shining with concern. A solid and warm hand gripped his shoulder, helping to push him back into a sitting position.

“Dean, are you alright? How do you feel?” 

Dean grumbled and waved him off.

“‘M fine, just got a little dizzy for a second, there.” Dean lied, seizing the opportunity where it presented itself to preserve his ego. Castiel frowned at him, and Dean mimicked it.

“Cas, seriously - I’m fine. My body’s not used to drinking this much water unless it’s mixed with coffee grounds.” He laughed dryly. Cas didn’t look amused. 

“Think...think I could take a shower?” Dean asked quietly, once again avoiding Castiel’s gaze. 

“Of course. Use the shower in my bathroom, towels are under the sink. I washed your shirt, it’s drying on the bannister - it should be dry by now.” 

Dean muttered his thanks and retreated back into the long hallway, keeping his gaze down trodden. As he passed the stairwell, he snatched his hanging shirt. It was a little damp, but he didn’t care - any signs of puke were gone, and that was good enough for him. He closed the door to the bathroom and engaged the lock, crouching down in front of the sink to pull out a neatly folded and pressed gray towel, which he hung from the conveniently placed hook on the outside door of the glass shower door. 

He felt inexplicably unnerved at the thought of taking his clothes off now, even though he was separated from Cas by about ten rooms  _ and  _ a locked door. It was like he could  _ sense _ his presence, and he didn’t like that he liked it. With a scowl, Dean bit the bullet and pulled his clothes off as fast as he could and turned the shower spigot, stepping directly under the stream of water.

Of course, it was almost immediately warm. 

Dean’s scowl deepened as he meticulously opened and smelled each of the soaps Cas kept neatly arranged in a stupid shower caddy that was stuck to the stupid perfect, smooth creme tiling of the shower wall. His scowl turned into a frown that made his cheek muscles ache when he  _ recognized _ the body wash Cas used. 

Weak. Weak was what he felt when he squirted the gently musk-scented shampoo into his hand and scrubbed it into his hair. And when he used the matching body wash. And stood in the shower with the water off to let it sit on his skin. To make him smell like Cas, even if he was  _ not _ being subtle about it and people - especially Cas - would notice. 

He found he didn’t care, though, as he turned the magnificently pressured shower head back on and rinsed the soap off him. He didn’t care if Cas knew, he didn’t care if other people knew. In that moment, he didn’t care.

And that scared the shit out of him.

He needed to get out of there, being  _ here _ , around Cas - it made him...stupid. He felt compromised. His guard, his willpower; everything. And that alone should be enough to make him want to run for the hills and never look back. 

But, he didn’t. 

He toweled himself dry and pulled last night’s clothes back on and wandered back into the main area. Cas was done with the dishes, and was sitting on the couch, watching the news. Dean wanted to sit right next to him, drinking their insanely good coffee while he smelled like Cas and Cas smelled like Cas, and waste their whole Saturday just like that. Together, alone, just...being. He wanted it so bad that it hurt, but this was something he couldn’t let himself have.

“Hey, man; I just wanted to say, y’know, thanks for saving my ass back there. I owe ya one, but I should be going. Don’t wanna overstay my welcome.”

Cas twisted and looked at Dean from over the back of the couch.

“You’re welcome - in both meanings of the phrase. But, if you need to go, I understand. Would you like a ride?” 

Dean swallowed and shook his head.

“Nah. No, I can get back on my own. Thanks again, buddy. I’ll see ya.” He offered awkwardly and let himself out the front door, all the while he could feel Castiel’s gaze boring a hole in his back.


	5. Chapter 5

When Rachel came back from her lesson, Castiel had cleaned up from their impromptu guest and Gabriel had returned from his outing to trash the kitchen making a sandwich and pass out on the couch with a partial crust sticking out of his mouth. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of him sprawled out on the leather L and sat opposite him.

“Gabe stinks, why doesn’t he sleep in his  _ room _ ?” She complained, digging the remote out from where it was sandwiched between Gabe’s chest and the couch. 

“Because Gabriel likes to cause problems, even when he’s not conscious.” He sighed, warming his clammy hands in the heating air around the kettle.

“Looks like it’s just us two tonight. Dad called and said his trip’s been extended to sometime next month. And I’d be willing to bet Gabriel isn’t joining the realm of the living for the next forty-eight hours.” He called over his shoulder jokingly. Rachel’s brown eyes peered at him from over the back of the couch, they were wide with a soft kind of hurt.

“He’s not coming back until  _ next month _ ?” She asked quietly. Castiel faltered when he realized his mistake.

He and his two brothers were old enough to have accepted the fact that their father was barely that - but Rachel, the baby of the family - was still clinging to the fragile ideal that he could still be considered a paternal figure.

“Yes, but he said he’d send pictures. If you want, we could try to call him sometime.” 

Try. The man didn’t even pick up when Gabriel was in the hospital with a broken hand after losing a fight with a bookshelf he wanted to turn into a barricade. He wouldn’t take time out of his busy schedule to talk to his 13-year old daughter who was feeling abandoned. 

Castiel’s heart sunk when he saw the look on her face, the look that told him she knew just as much as he did. 

“Are you hungry? How about we order in?” He offered in a last-ditch attempt to stop that bottom lip from quivering that way. Immediately, the girl brightened considerably and she bounced on the cushion.

“Ooh! Can we get pizza?” 

Cas smiled and let out a stealthy relieved exhale as he nodded, swiping the PizzaHut menu from the stack of restaurant pamphlets they kept under the counter.

“Come pick out what you want.” 

A phone call later, they sat at the counter awaiting three pizzas and some monstrosity that sounded like a cookie served like an entire pizza. Castiel sipping at his chai tea while Rachel talked excitedly about her newest interest; photography. 

She talked about different cameras, different styles, photographers, and even ran to get her second-hand canon that Luke had given to her before he left for college. She clicked through the various photos of bugs, flowers, and landscapes. Though the pieces were clearly done by someone inexperienced, there was promise and an artistic touch in the angle and lighting. 

They were impressive, and she’d only get better with practice; Castiel told her as much. She beamed with pride, unfazed by the lack of gushing praise she’d received. She was smart enough to know that was empty; meaningless. Not that she’d ever experienced it first-hand. 

There was a ring at the door, and Rachel had jumped up, snatching the bills that Castiel had shelled out of his wallet in preparation for their order. She didn’t hesitate before sprinting to the door and intercepting the greasy cardboard boxes, stuffing the money into the delivery boy's hand with a hasty thank-you and a slammed door. 

“PIZZA!” She hollered, sliding down the hard-wood hallway with her socks. Castiel watched with concern, waiting for her to trip or knock something over.

She didn’t, and pranced up to the table to place the boxes down gracefully, grinning ear to ear.

At the scent of food, Gabriel awoke from his drunken coma long enough to grab his pizza - sausage, olive and anchovy; an abomination of a pizza for an abomination of a person - and slunk away into his room. Rachel carried her pizza over to the living room, beckoning for Castiel to follow. 

She watched Adventure Time from the floor while she stuffed the scalding mix of cheese, tomato and crust into her mouth. Castiel wasn’t paying much attention, fiddling with his phone on the couch where Gabriel had previously occupied. He texted Luke, because he had a feeling Rachel missed him as well as their dad.

***

**Dean**

**_Dean: >>_ ** _ seriously, man. i owe u. don’t sit on it too long, tho - i’ll feel bad :( _

***

Despite himself, Cas smiled. Well, that was an understatement. He  _ grinned _ , and it was hurting his cheek muscles but he couldn’t stop. 

Of course, Rachel - being the annoying little sister with her annoying little sister senses - saw him, and immediately leapt onto the space beside him, aggressively peering over to his phone screen.

“What are you smiling at?! Oooh, does Cassie have a boyfriend?” She cackled maniacally as she swiped the phone from Castiel’s hand. He grappled with her desperately, and she managed to escape his grasp and vault over the back of the couch. Damn her martial arts training.

“Who’s  _ Dean _ ?” She wheedled. Castiel groaned and smacked a hand over his face.

“He’s a  _ friend _ , you heathen. Give me my phone back.” 

“A  _ friend _ or a  _ boy _ friend?” 

“Don’t make me regret coming out to you, give it!” 

Rachel surrendered the phone when she lost interest and returned to her previous seat, watching the cartoon that played on the screen. 

***

**Dean**

**_< <_ ** _ I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Dean. _

***

Castiel smiled to himself, but silently wished he was more apt at making conversation over text. Or in person, to start with. He didn’t plan on cashing in Dean’s favor - what could Dean even do for him, short of wanting him? But that wasn’t the kind of thing you could ask someone to do, no matter how much he wished that were the case. He was doomed to exist as Dean’s friend, who helped him out that one time when he was drugged, who Dean then tried to kiss. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are paired for an English project

School the following week was about as normal, apart from the added little layer of anxiety that Cas would have an awkward and unprecedented run in with Dean. He wasn’t exactly prepared to deal with that casually. Luckily, they had few classes together - Castiel had yet to decide if those few were precious or not. His answer changed on a bi-daily basis. 

One of those classes was English, which he had today. In exactly 23 minutes and forty-nine seconds. Forty-eight...forty-seven...fourt-

“Castiel.” 

He blinked his gaze away from the clock to find his history teacher staring at him expectantly. Castiel shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Could you, um...could you please repeat the question?” Cas asked sheepishly, shrinking under Mrs. Tran’s disappointed look. She sighed and shook her head, refocusing her attention to the majority of the class.

“You need to pay attention, Castiel. Victor, can  _ you _ give me one of the contributing factors that led to the Cold War?” 

He could feel his face heating with embarrassment, he desperately wanted to shrink into a tiny ball and roll away undetected - but he couldn’t help it as his attention was consistently drawn to his imminent fate of  _ seeing _ Dean again in...six minutes. 

Castiel’s heart jumped into his throat, and he clutched at the edge of his desk with shaking hands. The adrenaline that was coursing through his body was wholly unnecessary, the cynical and rational part of his brain posed wryly. The majority of him was too focused on flashing memories of warm breath, freckles and fluttering blonde lashes that were impossibly long to listen. 

The bell rang, Mrs. Tran shouted out their homework assignment over the sounds of scraping chairs and shuffling papers. Castiel was staring at the classroom door with a mix of excitement and utter terror. He seriously considered faking an aneurysm so he wouldn’t have to walk out that door, into that hallway, all the way to that classroom where he’d see  _ that _ face. And those eyes. And those shoulders. And those hands.

The decision was made for him when he was pushed out of the classroom by a tidal wave of annoyed students, he had no choice but to follow the current of his sleep-deprived peers to the English wing. 

Students in his class filed into Mrs. Allen’s classroom. They had assigned seats, which was something considered abnormal since almost no other classes did it. It was to help with Mrs. Allen’s self-proclaimed “face-blindness” (Which Castiel had researched - and it was, in fact, a real thing). Nobody really complained too much, Mrs. Allen was a good teacher. 

She stood at the front of the class, her colorful and patched hippie-looking skirt brushed her ankles and her red hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. She peered over her green-rimmed glasses as late students filtered in the door, slipping into their seats. 

“Today we’re going to be starting a project. You’ll be given a partner and a play, which you’ll need to adapt in modern english with a different theme. For example, if you get a Shakespeare play, you’ll need to tweak it to be something other than tragic. Go wild, use your imagination, and no hard swearing.” 

Castiel’s shoulders slumped and subconsciously scanned the room. He didn’t have any friends in this class, nobody to make eyes at in a silent agreement to team up. 

“Eyes back up here, kiddos;  _ I’m  _ going to be assigning partners,” Cue the chorus of groaning students, “Yeah, yeah. I want you all to step outside of your comfort zone for this project, it’s a big part of your final grade  _ and  _ a good skill to have. Now shut up so I can tell you who you’re working with; I’m not going to repeat the list.” 

The anxiety brewing in Cas’s gut had dissipated; at least now it was out of his hands. Mrs. Allen gave pointed looks to some kids who were still grumbling to each other before picking up a piece of paper and clearing her throat.

“Okay, okay. Let’s see here...okay; Jenny you’re with Sarah doing ‘Midsummer’s night dream”, Hannah and Brady and “Much Ado About Nothing”, Anna and Hester with “The Tempest”, “Romeo and Juliet”, Dean and Castiel-”

Castiel’s heart stopped as his eyes instinctively flitted to where Dean sat - a few rows over and head of him. Dean, apparently, had the same idea. Their eyes met for an awkward beat, and Dean offered a half-smile and a wave, which Castiel could only return with a shaky nod. Dean stood and approached him, grabbing an empty chair and spinning it around to sit on it the wrong way. Cas almost rolled his eyes, but his proximity to Dean made his heart hammer in his chest and he could barely breathe. 

“‘Romeo and Juliet’, god, that’s such a sappy play. Now we have to make it even sappier,” Dean complained, resting his chin on the back of the chair. 

“Not necessarily. We could make it about...family, mystery; something like that,” Cas noted, desperately trying to mask the tremble in his voice. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, but love seems easier, don’t it?” 

Cas didn’t even point out the irony in his statement. Instead, he nodded.

“I suppose,”

“Awesome. So like, when can we work on this? Tonight?” 

Cas tilted his head questioningly.

“Um...why not now?” 

Dean shook his head, chuckling.

“That’s real cute, Cas. How ‘bout, 10-ish, your place?” 

Castiel floundered for a solid few seconds before nodding and stuttering a confirmation.

“I-uh-a...o-kay…” 

Dean grinned and reached forward to clap him on the shoulder.

“‘Atta boy. See you then,” 

Dean walked away and left Cas utterly and hopelessly lost. 

\---

True to his word, Dean arrived at 10. He didn’t have anything with him, except his car keys. Rachel was the one who opened the door for him, and she immediately took a liking to him. Which was unusual, Rachel didn’t typically do well around people, especially teenagers. The two got along swimmingly, and Dean actually managed to make her laugh. It made Castiel’s heart swell in his chest. 

“Y-You serious thought we were going to work? That’s hilarious, it’s like you don’t even know me, Cas.” Dean’s eyes twinkled as he held up the blue bandanna hopefully. Castiel eyed it in disbelief and looked back at Dean. He was fully prepared to decline Dean’s request to let him take him “somewhere secret”, which sounded incredibly ominous.

That was, until he saw the puppy dog eyes and how his bottom lip stuck out just a fraction more than normal. It was a trick, he was convinced. He didn’t care. 

“Fine. But I’m not letting you blindfold me. If you want to take me to your ‘secret place’, you’re gonna have to show me the way.” Cas said firmly, silently praying that Dean would agree and drop it. He knew at any amount of prodding, his will would falter. Dean made him weak, and he was becoming more and more okay with it.

“Awesome! Okay, uh...you ready?” Dean’s face brightened and he was positively giddy with excitement, Cas felt like his heart was about to burst.

“R-we’re going  _ now _ ? Dean, it’s dark out, it’s like ten. Where are we gonna go? Everywhere’s closed.” Cas asked quizzically as Dean grabbed his jacket from the desk-chair, who just shot him a grin and shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about all that, I got this whole thing covered. C’mon, man, I ain’t got all night.” 

Castiel followed Dean, confused, and a little more excited than he was comfortable with. On the street sat a beautiful and very old car; the thing was monstrous and definitely horrible for the environment. Somehow, though, the design was still sleek and aesthetically pleasing. A shiny midnight black, in perfect condition. Dean made a beeline towards it, and Cas’s jaw dropped.

“This is  _ yours _ ? Dean, where the hell did you get the money for this?” 

He winced at his own question, but Dean seemed to brush it off.

“‘S my dad’s. I’ve fixed her up more times than I can count, though. Ain’t she a beaut?” He smiled as he ran a careful palm over her hood. Lovingly, proud, excited; Castiel smiled wide and gummy.

“Gorgeous,” He nodded, looking directly at Dean. Yes, the car was beautiful, but he wasn’t talking about her. 

If Dean picked up on that, Castiel couldn’t be sure. He’d met Castiel’s intense gaze and dropped it just as quickly, clearing his throat as he walked around and opened the door for Cas, bowing over-exaggeratedly.

“Good sir,” He said as he made a sweeping gesture with his arm. Cas snorted and climbed into the comfortable leather bench seat, nodding to Dean, who was still folded over in a bow. He slapped the door shut and scrambled over to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting the car up with an ear-splitting grin.

They tore off down the street, driving far too fast for Cas’s liking. He clutched the arm of his seat and cast a panicked glance at Dean, who looked downright giddy.

“Dean! Are you fucking crazy?! We’re in a  _ cul-de-sac _ and you’re going like 80!” 

Dean whooped and rolled his window down, but slowed down a little.

“Aw, c’mon - there’s nobody out here, I’m just livin on the edge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is really anti-climactic but I promise it gets juicy soon! Sorry for the late update I conked out after studying last night and completely forgot to post that's my b yall


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